


The Little Things

by troubleinmind



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types, Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Angst, Cunnilingus, F/M, Fluff, Miniskirts, Office Sex, Smut, Uniform Kink, spoilers for Brotherhood, tiny miniskirts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-24
Updated: 2018-04-03
Packaged: 2019-04-07 15:30:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14083977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/troubleinmind/pseuds/troubleinmind
Summary: A week after her transfer to Bradley's office, Lt. Hawkeye buys a miniskirt. Several years later, she wears it.





	1. Chapter 1

It is two days after Führer Bradley made her his assistant, and nothing is familiar anymore. She still walks the same route to the same office in the morning, still keeps the same hours mostly, but the sudden change has turned everything in her life alien and threatening. Riza Hawkeye has never been unaware of her surroundings, but she’ll be the first to admit she’s more careful than usual today. Every alleyway is scrutinized, every passerby memorized. If she can’t shake the feeling of being watched, she’ll at least know for damn sure the face of every person she passes this morning. Even the mannequins in the shop windows fall under her gaze, and this is how she sees it for the first time.

It’s perfect, is the thing. The skirt is precisely the same shade of blue as her coat, the same texture. The high waist and box pleats have beautifully clean lines. The brass buttons form an orderly column at the waist, and a contrast to the silver trim. It’s a flawless match in every way. It’s spectacularly, impractically short.

Before the war, Riza had always assumed that the edge of death had no leeway for stray thoughts or distractions. After Ishval, she knows that sometimes distractions are the only things that keep you sane enough to concentrate. This is a different sort of war, but it is no less true now. Which does not really explain why her thoughts keep returning, again and again, to that skirt in the window. Her tastes have never run that way. She has no time for impractical clothing, prefers her skirts below the knee, has never worn anything that short. She enjoys clothes, but doesn’t devote much thought to them usually. Given all of this, she doesn’t know why.

She knows exactly why.

If it’s not to her tastes necessarily, it’s hilariously in line with the Colonel’s. It’s a uniform miniskirt. She isn’t supposed to know about the uniform miniskirt idea. She does anyway, of course, as with most things she isn’t supposed to know about him, particularly the stupid things. And it really is stupid, possibly his worst idea. She’s homesick, suddenly, desperately, for East City, when he was still allowed to have stupid ideas, when one wrong move wouldn’t get them all killed.

Since she got her transfer she’s seen him once, and that only in passing. He hadn’t looked well, somehow both exhausted and frantic. She hates it. They have been a flawless team for so long, fighting back to back and working side by side. She supports him. She protects him. She’s good at it. The idea that she could be used against him, that she could make him vulnerable this way, is the antithesis of everything that they are. 

She misses him. Even beyond the grinding, constant fear of their situation, the gap by her side where he usually stands is a constant empty ache. She’s been his right hand for so long now; she is accustomed to his hands in tandem with her own. He is the ballast of her life, but now she is cut loose, unmoored. It’s a thousand little things. She makes too much coffee, forgets to drink it, and it grows cold in the pot with no one to share it with. She does paperwork and it’s flawless, has to be flawless, and her neck aches when she realizes she’s barely looked up for hours. She skips lunch twice that week, not even realizing until she gets home that without him to distract her she’d simply forgotten to stop working. Her work becomes grindingly dull, and she loses count of the number of times she turns, a half formed joke or observation dying in her mouth with no one to hear it.

She misses him. She misses his impulsiveness and his impatience and his arrogance. She misses his energy, his drive. She misses badgering him into his paperwork, and the way he would always try to get her off task. She misses their plans and their plotting, carefully constructed missions and work she believed in. She misses his ideals, his desperate ambitious dreams that have been her guiding force for all their years together. She misses looking at him, catching his eye, knowing he’ll catch her meaning without either of them having to say anything. She misses talking to him. She misses his stupid jokes.

She buys the skirt a week later.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Much later, Riza finds a reason to wear the skirt. (This one is literally just smut)

He’s been Führer for two weeks, and they are settling back into their familiar rhythm.

It’s a quiet day, mostly. Fewer meetings than usual, less chaos. A chance to get some real work done, perhaps, or at least a chance to catch up on the backlog of paperwork that is still really too boring to be kept up with during the week. Havoc had informed him that working on Saturdays like this guarantees that his marriage is doomed, but he’s very fond of this time. It reminds him of East City, before the revolution. The quiet of the office, most of the staff gone, parliament out for the week. Riza at the other desk, the work they can do together. The afternoon stretches before him and there is nothing he cannot do, with her by his side on a Saturday at the office.

He grabs her a coffee on his way back from his last meeting, just enough sugar, just enough cream. This is one of few meetings she doesn’t sit in on, and the odds are good she’s been working non-stop since lunch. She’ll appreciate the break and maybe he can coax her into a few minutes of distraction. The thought makes him smile.

She’s hunched over her desk when he opens the door, but her eyes flick towards him as he walks in. “Lock the door,” she says, and he does. He brings her her coffee, and sneaks a glance at the report in front of her. It doesn’t look urgent, but if she has something to discuss with him it must be important. She lets their fingers brush as she takes the cup. He waits, but she’s quiet, so he walks to his own desk, glancing over the day’s work. She’s neatened it up since he left, precise stacks of paper pushed to the edge in a row, leaving most of the workspace clear and open. Nothing that seems terribly worrying. And she doesn’t seem worried.

Her chair scrapes behind him and he turns.

He damn near swallows his own tongue.

She’s always in uniform at work, and today had been no different. Her jacket is still immaculate, buttoned perfectly into place, but her pants are gone, and instead she’s wearing a short blue skirt that flares over her hips and stops high on her thigh. Very high on her thigh. The effect is… hell it’s the hottest thing he’s ever seen. She’s impeccably put together, every line flawless and precise, standing at attention as if she’s about to pass an inspection with flying colors. She always stands like this and it’s always hot as hell, but this time the stance draws his eye to the line of her bare legs. She’s a decade of his fantasies come to life at once. 

She steps away from her desk, and her pleats flare and sway. He reaches blindly to steady himself on his desk. He’s trying to raise his eyes, to take in all of her, but it’s _so_ much, and his eyes are drawn to her hem like stones falling to earth. The sharp-sewn edge slides over her thigh as she walks, swings with her hips. He wants to put his hands there. He wants to put his mouth there. He’s drowning in it. All the miles of her legs and he’s touched every inch of them but he’s never seen them like this before.

She catches his chin in her hand and draws his head up. When did she get so close? Her face is perfectly neutral but her eyes are laughing at him. He swallows, clears his throat. “Riza?” he murmurs. “Colonel Hawkeye, what are you doing?”

She kisses him and it’s like a wave breaking inside his head. Suddenly he’s frantic with motion. He grabs her, pulls her against him as he draws her tongue into his mouth. He can’t stop moving his hands. They clutch at her jacket, slide over her back and down. The perfect curve of her ass fills his palm, and the fine wool crumples in his hand as he gives it a squeeze. His fingertips reach down to trace at the bare skin of her thigh. Her own hands slide up to cup the back of his head, sinking deep into his hair. He moans desperately against her mouth and he feels her chuckle as she scrapes her teeth against his bottom lip. Her hips hitch forward against him and suddenly it’s not enough.

He breaks the kiss and she’s openly laughing at him now. His hands slide under her hips and she grips his shoulders as he backs her up into his desk, lifts her up to sit on the open surface. She pulls him close, her hand fisted in his lapel and her legs coming up to wrap around him. His own hands find their way to her bare thighs, tracing the long line from her knee to her hip as he leans forward to catch her mouth again with his. She moans softly against his lips as his hands creep under her skirt, crumpling it up towards her waist. His fingertips find the edge of her underwear, tracing the familiar line of it down between her legs. Her skin is so soft here, and he loses himself a bit running his fingers along her inner thighs as she shudders against him. Her hands leave his shoulders and she’s pulling open his jacket, running her hands over his chest as she unbuttons his shirt. She pulls back from their kiss to run her tongue down his neck and his knees go weak.

He collapses backwards into his chair. No longer tangled up in her, he takes a moment to shrug out of his jacket and shirt as he runs his eyes appreciatively over her. She’s no longer flawless; her hair is starting to come loose and she’s flushed, breathing hard as she leans towards him. Her clothes are rumpled, her skirt pushed up and her legs sprawled out. She’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. He draws his chair closer in and pulls her right to the edge of the desk and back into his arms. Her hands push into his hair and he tilts his head back to kiss her, exploring her mouth with his own. His hands find their way back under her skirt and he tugs gently at her underwear, working them over the points of her hip-bones. She releases his hair to lift her hips and he slides them gently down her legs, breaking their kiss to glance down. It’s her usual style, the simple, practical black always devastatingly elegant against her pale skin, but against the rumpled blue of her skirt the contrast is mindbendingly hot. He drops his head to press a kiss to her skin, just below her hem. She twitches under his mouth. As her underwear drop to the ground, he leans in close. He opens his mouth to press a line of increasingly sloppy kisses up her thigh. He finds his favorite spot, the last sloping curve before the join of her hip, and gently, gently scrapes his teeth there. It makes her jump, legs jolting where they brace on the arms of his chair and now he’s muffling a laugh against her thigh because this is a game he knows and loves.

“Roy,” she says. Her voice is scraped and low. Her hips twitch towards him and yes, he knows how this works, how to give her what she asks for, just exactly what she needs.

Of course, he also knows how to annoy her when the situation calls for it. “That’s Führer Mustang to you Colonel.” He tilts his head up to waggle his eyebrows at her. Her face is wonderful. The very put-upon glare that tells him he’s not nearly as clever as he thinks, but she’s laughing a little as well, and so flushed. It’s his favorite face, and he loves to draw it out of her, but he can’t savor it for long now. She’s reaching up to swat at his head but he’s already diving back between her legs.

She’s so warm and slick under his mouth, and for all he’d been delaying he thinks his entire life is just waiting for moments like these. He runs his tongue gently, teasing with the point from the bottom of her slit to the apex, sliding over her clit just so. It’s everything. He hears her sharp intake of breath, the groan she can’t quite stifle, and he flickers quickly back and forth across the little nub before leaning in to suck. Her hand clutches at his hair and he doesn’t quite bother to muffle a sound of his own, opening his mouth to thrust his tongue inside of her. There’s nothing he loves more than this. He brings his hands up under her thighs, thumbs caressing the space just under her cheeks as he pulls her more firmly towards him, pressing in hard. She shudders and he withdraws just slightly, moving up play again at her clit, tongue moving more firmly now, more of the pressure she needs. Her hand flattens against the back of his head and she pushes him harder against her, grinding her hips into him. He can feel her wedding ring pressing into his scalp and that’s just… He withdraws one hand to grab his cock, trying not to come just yet.

He draws his other hand in, tracing along her thigh until his fingers find her sex. She’s whimpering now, a soft sound he would never have imagined from her before they started doing this. It’s vulnerable and a little desperate and he chases it, sliding two gentle fingers into her as his tongue pulls back to tease. The heat of her is incredible, slick and gripping and soft. He grinds against his own hand, just once, trying to relieve some of the pressure. He hooks his fingers inside of her, searching for the perfect, familiar angle, and closes his lips over her clit. Her legs are trembling against his ears, and the clutching of her hand on his head has started to take on a frantic quality. Her hips are thrusting against his hand, against his face, and he knows she’s close. He thrusts his fingers in rhythm, feeling the fluttering of her walls against his hand, and speeds up his tongue against her, firm pressure and as much speed as he can manage. He feels the moment she starts to come, shuddering against his hand and his mouth, and he pushes in one last time, taking her as high as he can as she tumbles over the edge. She gives a cut off cry and he knows she’s biting her lip, keeping as quiet as she can. That had been one of many delightful surprises, to find that she’s quiet in bed but never silent. There are a thousand little sounds she makes, just loud enough for him to hear. It’s not what he would have guessed and he treasures it.

He gentles his mouth against her, letting her come down slowly. Her fingers unclench from his hair to slide under his jaw and draw him up. She kisses him, deep and slow, and he wraps his arms around her, holding her close as he kisses back. He slides his tongue over her lip, soothing where she’s been biting it. Every part of him is aching and desperate but he would gladly drown in this moment if he could. He wants nothing more than this. Just her, soft and sated, close and loved.

It’s a shock, then, when he’s suddenly pushed back. Her hands find his bare shoulders and push him away, and he’s knocked back in his chair before he quite knows what’s happening. He has just enough time to register her smirk and his own confusion and then she’s on him again. She slides off his desk and onto his chair with him, straddling his lap and leaning in to kiss him. This kiss is far less gentle. Her teeth sink into his lip and he’s moaning into her mouth, barely mindful of the closed door and the world beyond.

He pulls her close and her buttons scrape against his bare chest and that won’t do at all. As she moves to mouth along the line of his jaw, he unbuttons her coat and reaches inside to untuck her shirt. Her fingers splay over his chest, run along his arms and it’s lovely but very distracting, particularly when he’s facing his nemesis: her many shirt buttons. He’s managed to get two undone but her teeth graze his earlobe and he fumbles the third. With her mouth against his throat he can feel her laughing at him. She pulls back to strip off her jacket and makes quick work of the buttons herself, dropping her shirt behind her. 

He is already reaching for her and his hands freeze at her waist. He _needs_ to be touching her, but the sight of her is so arresting. Straddling his lap, now wearing nothing but her bra and the damn skirt, her skin flushed all the way down her chest, she makes him dizzy. He runs his hands up her sides, savoring the smooth slide of her skin as he reaches back to unclasp her bra. As it falls away, he draws her in close, bringing his mouth to kiss where her shoulder meets her neck. Her nipples are hard against his chest, and he runs his hands along her ribs, light and teasing, before cupping her breasts with a light squeeze. She moans softly. He rubs his thumbs over her nipples, just the way she likes, laughing softly as her hands come up to clutch at his arms. He ducks down, planting kisses all the way, before taking her breast in his mouth and sucking, teasing her nipple with his tongue and his teeth. Her hands run down his back, nails digging in perhaps a little harder than she meant and _God_ he loves that, loves when her iron control slips just a bit, loves the fire underneath, loves bringing it out in her. He redoubles his efforts, sucking a little harder as he scrapes his teeth across her skin. This close to her, he can’t really see anything, so he jolts when her hands reappear, quickly undoing his pants and sliding inside. His cock throbs in her hand, aching from neglect and arousal. She guides it out, stroking gently, and he’s shaking with need now, the clutch of his hands going more than a little desperate. She catches his chin again in one hand, drawing his head up to kiss him. As her tongue slides into his mouth she shifts against him, rising up slightly, and he feels her brush, hot and wet, against the head of his dick. His hands fall to her hips as she shifts again and suddenly he’s inside of her.

He gasps against her mouth, clutches at her hips. It’s _so good_. He can’t count the number of times they’ve done this, but every time catches him by surprise. She’s soft and warm around him, the clutch and slide of her cunt threatening to wring his orgasm from him right now. He breaks their kiss, trying to catch his breath, and fails utterly when she starts to move. Her hands leave his skin to brace against the back of his chair, her knees shift against his hips, her body grinds down against him and he is lost, lost. 

He fights his eyes open and there she is. She’s leaning so close that their foreheads are almost touching, her arms caging him in. Her eyes meet his and it’s like seeing Truth again, but this time there’s no pain. Just the world, the universe, and everything, everything in her eyes. That spark of humor is still there, but it’s drowned in heat, in love, in that iron strength of hers that he’s built his entire world around. She’s moving in rhythm now, riding him hard, and his hips buck up to meet her. He’s surrounded by her, every one of his senses filled to overflowing with her presence. In the years since the promised day they’ve had each other in every way imaginable, but he thinks this is his favorite. There’s an honesty to her intensity, to the way her arms hold him in place. She keeps him together and she drives him forward and it’s so right like this. There’s no part of him that she doesn’t own, and as her body cleaves to his he feels claimed.

Her breath is starting to grow ragged, little moans on every exhale. He leans forward, pressing their chests together to capture her mouth. He draws her tongue into his mouth and his hands find their way under her skirt. He grips the perfect curve of her ass as he works his hips in earnest, searching for just the right angle. When he finds it he feels her twitch around him, and she shudders as her hands come back to grip his shoulders. He’s so close he can taste it, just desperate, and he can feel her rising to meet him. He slides one hand forward over her hip, finding her clit with his thumb, drawing desperate circles as he thrusts in hard, the best way he knows how. She breaks the kiss and her teeth sink into his shoulder, and she grinds into him, forcing his hips back down into his chair. He tries to keep going but good God he can feel her clenching around him, can feel her shaking against him and he’s breaking apart. He grinds back into her as he falls over the edge, face pressed into her hair with a moan he can’t quite stifle. His eyes drop to where his hand is still moving under her skirt, splayed across his lap and pushed up on her thighs. It’s the last thing he sees before his vision whites out.

He comes back to himself, still gasping for breath and clutching her against him. She’s nuzzling against his neck, cheek resting against his shoulder where her teeth have absolutely left a mark just now. He slides a hand out from under her skirt to stroke up her back, long sweeps from hip to shoulder, holding her close. She’s shivering a bit. He finds his jacket bunched behind him on the chair and drapes it across her shoulders. As he looks them both over he’s struck by how ridiculous they look, mostly naked and curled together in his chair in the middle of his office. He starts to laugh. “Riza, how did… what just happened?”

She pulls back to meet his eyes, her own silent laughter in every line of her face. “Well sir, you did say that if you ever made Führer…”

“So did you have this commissioned? How did I not know?”

She shakes her head, and her eyes are so fond he has to kiss her, just once. “No, I’ve had it for years actually. Found it in a store. Just never bothered to wear it until now.”

That’s the opposite of an answer. He has so many more questions now. He catches her eye, but she’s apparently not interested in elaborating. She leans forward and settles her head back on his shoulder and he’s too content just now, warm in her arms in the afterglow, to really want to press her. He kisses her hair, settling back for the moment, and resigns himself to bothering it out of her later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *handwaves all fraternization questions and other logistical issues*  
> A full week later than I had planned but it's here! This is the longest thing I've written by a pretty huge margin, and the first smut in several years. I hope you enjoyed it!

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! This is unbeta'd so if you find a typo let me know. Comments and kudos are always appreciated.


End file.
